


Control Freak's Fantastic Fetish-Fueled D&D Session

by CharlieGM



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Breast Expansion, Comedy, Crack, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, F/F, F/M, Female Characters, Fluff, Happy Ending, Harems, Identity Issues, LEWD, Love, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual, Supervillains, TF, TFTG, Transformation, pinning, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieGM/pseuds/CharlieGM
Summary: Control Freak has done the impossible; capturing the Titans in a game of his own design!  Helpless and subject to his creative demands, the Titans must survive... a game of 5e?!
Relationships: Koriand'r/Raven (DCU), Raven & Victor Stone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Control Freak's Fantastic Fetish-Fueled D&D Session

**Author's Note:**

> Behold! The duality of man!
> 
> This one needs no introduction. Thank you to Emac230 for the chance to write this behemoth of a silly fic.
> 
> Tags: TF/TG, Race Change, Mental/Personality Changes, Identity Play, Breast Expansion Tiefling, Lamia, Minotaur, Orc, Harem Shenanigans, D&D, Lewd
> 
> Apologies for the formatting ahead of time. Google Docs is not entirely compatible with Ao3.

Xander Polinsky had outdone himself this time.

Oh yes, this was beyond the pale. An unmitigated success, a glorious victory the likes of which he’d never even imagined. Who knew the Teen Titans were so vulnerable to the time-worn allure of tabletop games?!  
  
Certainly not… err ah… certainly yes, Control Freak did! Of course HE did! Control Freak was Xander’s better half, where all of his genius flowed. He knew precisely how to defeat those tumultuous Titans in detail, no matter the odds. 

He simply didn’t choose to deploy _this_ plan until now. Until, well, three property damage convictions and like five enforced restraining orders. Polinsky supposed this was part of the game - let the Titans beat the two of them a few times, build up some rapport in Bludhaven’s local mental hospital, build cred as a supervillain. Then, and only then, would he get respect when he let his genius shine. The problem, up to this point, was ah, getting it to shine in the first place.

Sure, Control Freak could master anything. Build anything, devise any scheme, _counter_ any strategy. That’s why Polinsky loved being him. Control Freak was his favorite character. The Freak could predict the martial arts patterns of that idiot bird boy Robin down to an algorithm. He could map Victor Stone’s robot body to every last nanoangstrom and find a vulnerability the dumb lug never could’ve seen coming. He could synthesize the bane metals of Princess Koriand’r’s dear Tamaranian physiology, wield the powers of technoshadow to bind Rachel Roth’s darkness to the astral plane…!   
  
And… do… something about Beast Boy. He got most of their secret identities right, okay, that took far more digging than he was comfortable sharing in public. Control Freak was a capable, competent villain. His will demanded respect!

But now! Now, he had them all. A carefully doctored 5e Player’s Handbook had made it into the Titans’ conference room, nudged into view at a carefully chosen storefront. They took the bait, the fools. They took the book home, and ever since they opened it, their minds have been scoured. Exposed to the wit and calculation of their worst foe yet, their most diabolical arch nemesis!

The Titans’ worst enemy was none other than the game master himself~.

It was a bright and calm day. Godrays fluttered under the trappings of a high canopy. The grass glistened with a morning’s dew, scented by the night’s long rain. Oak trees stood high, as the forest-dwelling creatures gathered low, furtive as ever. A verdant warmth settled across the forest like a long blanket fresh out of the dryer.

These were all ominous signs. A Disney-level idyll.   


Raven took a moment to realize where she was. This pastel woodland was not Titan’s Tower. This cushion of multicolored leaves was not a bed of couch pillows, though it was admittedly cozy. Most importantly, she thought, this was not the dark and stormy night she remembered. There was a copious absence of lightning, for one. For two, she swore there was a coffee table with miniatures on it, somewhere that wasn’t here.

A little bluebird landed on her shoulder. It began to sing an enchanting melody, until she held a finger to its beak.

“I am giving you a moment to reconsider,” said Raven. “Just one.”  


For its own safety, the bluebird stopped singing.

If Raven had anything resembling a resting state of emotion, it was unhappiness. Neutral, apathetic, cynical unhappiness. One might call it a bubble of sober misery. Cranky at the best of times. She was blessed with terrible knowledge, and an understandable lack of patience for good cheer. The world deserved to know how obnoxious it was being, trying to shove a good mood down her throat without her permission. The part of her that enjoyed all things fuzzy and warm was folded in with the rest of her old identity, little girl Rachel Roth, when she learned how to master the shadow.

And now she was surrounded with a technicolor fantasy forest drawn up in the colors of a gaudy fantasy novel jacket. Raven wanted to retch on the spot. Maybe go back to sleep and dream of dark horizons. Not that it mattered - it was too bright to think about precious REM sleep now.

Raven yawned. She glanced back at the bird, which had frozen to the spot and was now desperately looking for a way to extricate itself from this situation before it got worse.

Raven obliged after a sigh. Poor creature apparently didn’t know how to soldier on without a singing partner. She cupped the bird, moved it to a branch, and let the terrified thing fly off. Better to tell the other birds not to disturb her, Raven supposed, while she figured out where she was.

Before anything moody on her part, Raven had compassion. Twas the glue that kept her together, a certain obligation to care for the plights of other creatures. It was part of her connection to shadow magic, but it was also deeply threaded into her personality. Raven shut herself off from the world as much as she did to find peace from it, to keep from being overwhelmed with _concern_.

Like… now. She had woken up in another world. Her head was foggy. Her grump had a little bit of bite to it too, uncharacteristically acerbic. Memories of the night before floated in and out without definition, though by all accounts, a couch was involved. And a book. Not one of her books, a nerd book for dorks. She tried to remember its cover, but the gloss made the subjects and lettering hazy in her third eye.

Were her powers somehow turned off?

Several feet away, a rose bush rustled with the movement of a heavy object in its branches. It was soon too much to bear, and it abruptly deposited a sleeping Cyborg into the grass. 

“Five more minutes, mommy…” he moaned drowsily.

This startled Raven, as much as anything startled her anymore. She let her inner grump bubble back up like acid reflux. “Hello. _Cyborg._ ”

Cyborg stirred, enjoying his deep sleep. “Hello pizza fairy~... “ he mumbled.

“I’m going to give you five seconds to wake up,” Raven said, “before I banish the pizza fairy to a plane of suffering.”  
  
Cyborg snorted awake at that.

“Right on cue,” Raven quipped under her breath.

Cyborg started upright. The servos in the see through section of his head worked, loud enough Raven could hear the gears turning as he took in everything. His cyber-eye flashed. “Uggghhhh… lemme guess, I came down with the old food coma?”  
“No,” said Raven, drawing her hood up. Her tone was sour, with a dash of dourness for extra acidity. “Unless you’re willing to believe this is a collective hallucination.”   
  


“Could be mushrooms,” Cyborg added, trying to be helpful.

Raven glared at him. Not because mushrooms were quite a bad explanation for appearing suddenly in an idyllic nature setting, but because this was the second time the Titans would’ve been incapacitated by mushrooms. Two times wasn’t a lot of times, bear in mind, but the fact that it happened twice at all was weird, right?  


It was weird to Raven. Borderline frustrating. The Titans blundered into all sorts of hairbrained situations, and left their cool, responsible witch of darkness to be the source of reason and skepticism. That was a bad idea for their sake. Raven wanted nothing to do with responsibility, that old ball-and-chain of a metaphysical concept. The most the daughter of Trigon wanted out of life was a good book. And yet, the unexpected always came up. Her friends kept expecting her to be the clear-headed authority figure when things got weird.

No wonder Raven decided to be a Barbarian for game night. No thought, no brains.

Suddenly, she remembered. “Hey.”  
  
Cyborg looked absent-mindedly away from the deer he was petting. “S’up?”   
  
“We were playing… uugh…” Raven cringed. “... Dungeons… and Dragons? Before we dropped in here?”   
  
Cyborg leapt up. “Oh! Oh hell yeah, we were!”

His jump sent the deer prancing away. Cyborg sat back down with an annoyed snort. “Yeah. That’s it, I remember. Rainy day, handbook on sale, it’s all comin’ back.”

“Including the part where we disappeared from the living room?”  
  
Cyborg eyed away. “... naah, don’t remember that part.”   
  
“Me neither,” Raven commented. “I get a vaguely Tolkien feeling from this place.”

It would be a stretch to call Cyborg a jock. He was one, once, but time had eroded his walls. The signs were still there in places - he was loud, sometimes cocky, sometimes piggish and more than a bit uncultured - but these were qualities worn like a letterman jacket. Badges on a deeper fabric, or in a metaphor the person underneath the armor might appreciate better, extensions to a central framework. Cyborg had grown out the character of a high school linebacker a long time ago, and turned into a dependable ally to the Titans. Mostly the obnoxious, enabling kind of ally. Still, he had the emotional maturity to take something seriously once serious implications were brought in.

Under his goofy shell, Cyborg was a kind soul. Wounded by years of self-loathing and identity searching, but tough, attentive to the needs of others. She appreciated his presence more than she ever let on. 

Slowly, Cyborg lumbered up to his full height. He managed to narrowly avoid hitting his head on a branch - even if he did, the tree was more likely to get hurt than he was. Metal beat wood, and most of Cyborg’s chrome dome was actually chrome. “So, what’s the plan?”  
  
Raven gawked up at him. “Excuse me?”   
  
He scanned over the trees. “We’re down three members, stuck in the Shire’s backwoods, and out of good options for getting out. This sounds like your gig, y’know? Magical shenanigans?”   
  
“Magical shenanigans,” Raven sounded out, letting her annoyance creep back out.

Cyborg beamed back at her. “Deferring to your judgment, basically. You're the leader of the party.”  
  
Raven picked a direction that looked vaguely like a nature trail. If a road was nearby, the two might find peasants, and if they found peasants, they might also find a town. As far as Raven’s adventurer senses told her, towns were good watering holes for plot. If there was anything to learn about where the other ‘party members’ had fallen into this word, it didn’t hurt to find a tavern and start asking questions.

That was assuming this was structured like a game. It wouldn’t be the first time the Titans had to play a game to get back to reality. It honestly wouldn’t have been the fifth time this happened - which, again, was a weird thing to happen more than once.

Thinking about it, there was something about that ‘party leader’ role Cyborg gave her that itched in the wrong way. She scowled at him. “Is that some kind of D&D thing? I hate D&D.”  
  
Cyborg’s stony stony stoicism collapsed in on itself. “You know, I still can’t believe that! Aren’t you supposed to be totally into that fantasy stuff?!”   
  
Raven sprang up to meet him. “It’s called literature. John Crowley and Naomi Novik are distinctly different from the consumer trash you call fantasy. And no, it’s a game for dweebs with too much time on their hands.”

  
“So you’re calling me a dweeb for sinking a couple sessions into my character?”   
  
Raven narrowed her eyes. “... your character?” She had heard of superheroes getting deep into their alter egos, and supposed the logic followed.

Cyborg’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, man, she’s great. Like - okay, her name’s Minos. She’s a barmaid-”  
  
“Uh-huh.”   
  
“And she’s part minotaur- wait, whole minotaur. Her weapon’s this massive milk jug on a hammer staff. She’s a badass level five fighter, so she hits like a freaking dairy train!”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“I remember this one time, Beebee put us up against a group’a goblins-”   
  
“Wait. Doesn’t Beast Boy play this game too?”   
  
Cyborg shrugged merrily. “Yeah! But he runs the game too. Gamemaster position, and he’s good at it. He was gonna run tonight, I think.”   


Raven sighed flatly. She found the one thing the green gremlin was good at, and it was tabletop games. “Let me guess. He’s responsible for this.”  
  
“Since when can you read the future, huh? What makes you think he teleported us to another world?”   
  
“It’s Beast Boy,” Raven replied. That statement alone had a lot of heft.

Cyborg snorted all the implications away. “You’re too hard on him. He had way too many ideas for tonight’s game, and I’m totally sure none of them were isekai.”

“What?”  
  
Cyborg blinked. “What?”   
  
Raven stopped in front of a gnarled oak tree. “What was that word you said?”

“What word? You mean GM?”  
  
“You didn’t even say GM, you said ee-seh-kai.” She’d only heard of the word in discord servers, so naturally she had a low opinion of it. 

Cyborg scrunched up his face. “... is that some kind of anime thing?”  
  
It seemed to Raven that two things could have been true: Cyborg was playing coy, or he actually didn’t know what he said. Both of those possibilities irritated her.

She was about to open her mouth to voice her long-suffering impatience, when a patch of orange and violet leaves above them answered instead. “An isekai is a pollinating predator vegetable on Volluvex 17! Or… is that Osekai…”  
  
The two looked up at the canopy line. Raven worked her jaw awkwardly. “Starfire, is that… you?”   
  
“Friends!” the leaves cried. Then the leaves gave way, and a Tamaranean fell out of the sky. Raven was directly underneath, and was therefore crushed under 210 lbs of Amazonian alien.

“Owww….” groaned Raven.

Starfire tittered, and sat up off Raven’s robes. Her hair was stuck through with twigs, armguards scuffed and her dress nicked in several uncomfortable places. A hercules beetle had found itself caught up in her bangs, dangling with its little limbs out. She noticed, and helped him over to a log rotting at a glacial pace. “I am so glad to have found my friends once again! The tree above was most uncomfortable.”  
  
“You’re uncomfortable too,” Raven bleated, dusting the errand leafage out of her robe and leotard.

Cyborg smiled (to stop himself from laughing). “Are you okay?”  
  
Starfire regarded him in that quixotic way to which she was prone. “Aaah, no, I am not okay! I cannot summon starbolts from my soul. I cannot even fly! It is very vexing.”

Cyborg and Raven went quiet. He tested his arm cannon - and got not even an error sound in his OS. It simply didn’t respond. Neither did the array of call-up visual spectrums in his cybereye!   
  
Raven put her hands out, calling upon the power of her dark magic - 

<< AZARATH, METRION, **ZINTHOS** >>

But no degree of leverage brought her any magical strength. The words had no meaning. Her chakra jewel - the eye to which all her powers were supposed to manifest - had no hum, no spiritual resonance in the fabric of this universe. 

She tried desperately to float off the ground. She only managed a piddly hop.

Starfire’s buoyant smile sank. “... you cannot activate your superpowers either?”

Cyborg cracked his knuckle along the front of his chest, trying to activate whatever instruments were working. His face had hardened to stone. “‘Fraid not. Looks like this was targeted to us. Some kind of trap.”

“Whoever did this knows how our powers work,” Raven muttered with all the venom of a pit viper. Not even meditation cleared her mind to the cosmic forces. Just as well, she was too disturbed to put her mind at ease. “They neutralized us individually, but how did it happen? What did they do?”  
  
“Perhaps it is this world?” Starfire chirruped. “It may be unique in its properties.”   
  
Cyborg narrowed his eye. “How so?”

Starfire swallowed her fear and tried to enunciate clearly. More than she already did, which was punctilious at a baseline. “Different dimensions have different laws, in much the same way different planets have different legal systems. It may be that the rules of our world are null and void, and we must play by ones we have not seen and do not understand… does that help?”  
  
She did it again. Starfire made too good of an impression. Raven clammed up.

The essence of Princess Koriand’r was that emphatic earnestness. That… spice with a wholesome flavor, one part sweetness and two parts ferocity. She was the kind of alien princess Raven wouldn’t mind kicking her ass on a bad day. From experience, she knew it was possible. Starfire’s naivety and straightforwardness wasn’t a mallus to her intellect, not at all. She’d beat chessmasters… if she knew the Earth rules of chess, and remembered that defeated pieces were not meant to be eaten, per the right of Klug’narg.

Nothing about Starfire’s foibles suggested a lack of spark in her eyes. She had so much of it, her irises literally glowed green. All the good it did her now, trying and failing to summon enough nova energy to lift an inch off of the ground. She put on a stiff upper lip, but Raven and Cyborg understood the intrinsic uneasiness of being depowered.

“First thing’s first,” Cyborg said, straightening out his tone. “We’re down two teammates. Our powers can wait - Beebee and Robin need our help.”  
  
“Right,” the girls said in unison. They shared a look of concern.

“And… t’be honest, I was following Raven’s sense of direction here. My GPS is down, so I’m sorta-”  
  
**“GYAAAAAAHH~”**

The titans bunched up in shock. Screaming? Was that screaming?

“What the hell was that?” Raven blurted.

Starfire recovered enough to begin scanning the treeline. She locked onto a direction like a bloodhound catching scent. “I believe someone is in great trouble! A familiar voice, yes? This way!”

Raven slumped. Good to know her senses were still sharp as a needle. Before she knew it, Starfire was leaping through a gap in the root structures of the oaks, with Cyborg following clumsily behind. 

She willed herself to follow. It was strange - without dark powers to keep in check, Raven didn’t know where to put herself on an emotional footing. That scream - that bloodcurdling yelp - set her body on alert. She was surprised, a rare thing indeed. Moreover, she was anxious, unbalanced, swinging back and forth between relief and affective dread.

This didn’t make sense. Meditation was the thing Raven was _good_ at. Peace of mind came naturally with the onus of a dark seal on her soul. Now that she couldn’t feel it, now that her body had no incentive to clamp down and hide all those emotions…

Raven felt wild. Like her heart was a bucking horse circling the pen in a panic.

She stopped to squeeze her chest. Her hand searched for something to hold her steady, and ended up gripping the bark of a smooth Magnolia tree too tight. She squeaked. All this commotion was yanking her from one nervous emotional state to another. This didn’t feel right, but someone was in trouble, and there was no doubt in the world she could do something about it.

“Ssssstop!” called Starfire. “I can ssssee them…!”  
  
Raven’s thoughts hitched. Did her best friend just hiss? Twice?   
  
She threw the thought down and took a deep breath. Too much was happening to process it all in a heightened state of emotions. She had to calm herself down. This wasn’t in character to how she normally tried to present, but getting a hold of her heart was tricky. Deep breathing, she thought. Small steps. Settle the sediment. Control. Nothing but control.

She visualized her blood oxygenating down her body. All of her capillaries taking in rich, calming air, sending the cool energy out to the ends of her fingertips. Then, the breath reversing course, and carrying it all back to the center to exhale as one. Breathing techniques were the bedrock to meditation. If there was nothing else that could put her mind at ease, then turning her body into a conduit for the spirit was her last resort.

Only after she was confident she had settled her spirit down, did Raven think about putting one foot forward. One step, and then the other step. Down the steep, nerve-wracking embankment. Sliding down mud. Stumbling through a thicket with thorns tearing into her leotard...

She growled. Whoever this person Starfire tracked down better be worth the trouble. It was getting difficult to focus on the ideal, the dark harmony of loathing Raven yearned.

There was a road on the other end. It was a trail of cobblestone, made into a tunnel by the forest. A pinwheel of reds, blues, violets and oranges danced over the stone, as light refracted through the leaves. Cyborg and Starfire had made it out, and had hurried to sign at a fork in the road ten meters down, where someone had taken a shaking sanctuary. 

Raven peeled off briars, and tried to get a look at the figure. 

“Thank Ferrinax the Undying!” Starfire cheered. “It is the Richard!”  
  
Raven gawked. Was that… Robin?   
  
“E-excuse me?! My name isn’t…!” He protested weakly.

She hardly believed it was him, but the domino mask didn’t lie. Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson, AKA Robin, was relegated to a few well-defined adjectives after this long as the team’s leader. Short, black-haired, flat-chested, boxy bodied, brightly costumed, but above all, carried with steely, cold confidence. He was the definition of dependable. As reliable as his gadgets. Nosy, sometimes, and there were times when he got too deep into a case to let go , but his moral core knit the team together in times of crisis.

This shrinking violet couldn’t be farther from his old self.  
  
He put his arms out and took several cautious steps away. “ I am p-politely requesting that you stand back, te-travelers! It isn’t safe to buh-be… ah, near a cleric of Baazebul! ”   
  
Raven couldn’t parse that nonsense. His costume was ripping open, piece by piece. Black claws ripped out of his gloves. His leggings creaked with strain, bulging at the hip and splitting open holes down each thigh. His face, already red with embarrassment, kept darkening until it was a bright, subsuming scarlet. Nubs pierced the hairline, spreading a long line of white into his hair while rings etched into the keratin. 

Raven recognized demon horns, off-brand fantasy or not.

The most unnerving thing, though, about this wallflower Robin was bulging out of his chest. It was breaking out of a poly-kevlar weave vest, stretching it from two directions. A valley carved with cleavage. Mounds hardened into shape on the very tips of bulbing shapes. Robin whimpered. He clutched them with his hands, but he could barely hold them together, the flesh around his claws somehow malleable and soft. 

Why weren’t her friends reacting to this? Why were they just… shocked?!  
  
The bulbs pressed harder against his costume, drawing out a long moan. No wonder Raven felt her heart racing - the squishy pillows in his palms weren’t pecs. They were breasts.

She caught his suit’s shoulders spasming at the same time his shoes were beginning to quiver. Outlines crawled all over his body. It was like another outfit was growing underneath, and encouraging the rest of his body to fit. Robin pitched forward, hissing through his teeth. He rolled back and forth as the rest of his body asserted control, and tore through his costume with a loud shriiiiiiip!  
  
It all happened in an instant. His height shot up. Wings unfolded out of his back. Breasts swung out of their sheath and sent pieces of the suit-buttons flying into his friend’s faces. A spaded tail whipped free and smacked into the stone. Robin yelped, and clutched it protectively. “M-my… many apologies!”

He towered over them all now. Even Cyborg. His stature had turned in minutes from a stocky ninja to a full-bodied, big-hipped and generously endowed half-demon. An obviously female demon, pressing seven feet tall. A blushing darkling wrapped in the raiment of an ordained priest, and standing on cloven hooves.

Raven swallowed. She didn’t want to look into Robin’s cleavage, but her eyes kept wandering in the valley in the shadow of horny. Azarath above, she needed a bible right now.

“Richelle, it’s okay,” Cyborg said placatingly. “We didn’t mean to spook you, dude.”

Starfire nodded. “We are just glad our cleric is ssssafe!”  
  
She made a double-take. A sudden swell of indignity sent her running to the group. “His name’s not Richelle! I-it’s not that at all!”   
  
“Come again?” Cyborg asked, genuinely confused.

‘Richelle’ finger-waved with the temerity of a wilting flower. “G-good morn, Rae-Rae.”

Raven felt anger bubbling up inside her, a rage like she’d never felt before. What was happening? Why was everyone so content to just let Richard Richelle fall into this new shape? To just gawk while his her bust wiggled and wobbled with dainty movements? He had a name, he had his shape, he had his _character_ …

But just as quickly as she started over, Raven slowed to a stop, overwhelmed with incongruent thoughts?  
  
Cyborg watched her, trying to be buoyant. “Rae? _Errything_ alright?” 

“She ssssssounds mistaken,” Starfire hissed, with a tone cold as ice. Raven swore she saw her tongue flicker out of her mouth. 

Try as Raven might, she couldn’t think of Richelle’s old name. It didn’t even feel like an ‘old’ name the more she tried to grasp and weave a picture of the cleric’s boyish body. He/him had no place. She was sure somehow Richelle wouldn’t recognize it, there was nothing masculine about her at all. No, this concept with male pronouns was almost… imaginary! Like she had known for Richelle for far too many adventures(?) now to think of her as anything but the party’s white mage. Pretty prey to the leers of townsfolk and lecherous demons all over the realm.

Context trickled as Richelle carefully inserted herself back into the group’s personal space. A ‘curse of desires’ that had been glued to her spirit. Raven stumbled a step away. Instinct told her thinking too much about breasts might…

_Creaaaaaaaakkk._ Make them grow.

Richelle flushed with embarrassment. She crossed her arms over her sharply defining bustline. “I-I’m sorry???”

They grew into FF cups before Raven realized what she was doing and turned sharply away. “I wasn’t thinking about your- ah. … sensitive… spots…”  
  
Richelle sweatdropped. Exactly like one of Beast Boy’s animes. “Don’t think I can’t tell, y’know? It’s h-hard enough as it is!”

She craned her back. The amount of strain those pillows were putting on her must have been terrible. So terrible, Raven couldn’t imagine doing anything untoward to make the situation worse, like putting her face into the cleavage and motorboating them just to hear her mmmuhh…

_Creeeaaaak_ went Richelle’s tunic again. Raven clapped her hands on her cheeks, and at the same time, Richelle let out a sharp gasp. “By the gods…”   
  
Raven knew what intrusive thoughts looked like. These were decidedly not intrusive thoughts. This was her brain going into a horny sprint every time she so much as thought of Richelle, and she had no idea what to do about it. Her heart pounded loud enough for her to hear it in her ears. Oh, why did Richelle have to be so hot?   
  
She caught Starfire in the corner of her eye, staring coldly at her. Raven’s thoughts stopped in their tracks. She heard Cyborg clapping Richelle on the shoulder, cheering her up, but the reptile stare in Starfire’s case muted everything to a muffled whimper.

Raven shook. “Starfire… this is crazy. You see it too, right? Please tell me I’m not crazy.”

Starfire narrowed her eyes. “Issss that sssupposssed to be a demand?”  
  
Raven’s heart sank. The scolding stung. “I-I… didn’t mean…”   
  
“A barbarian telling a naga princesssss to ssssay thingsss she did not intend…” Starfire turned her nose up. Her posture filled to the brim with a sudden arrogance. Her blood turned cold. A switch flipped in her head, and she advanced on Raven. “It’ssss ab _sssssurd.”_

Raven recoiled. Starfire was naturally tall, but she seemed so much more in an instant. Fear made Raven small, and as it did, it made her aware of the folding brim spreading over Starfire’s hairline. Her bangs were hardening to a scaly texture, taking the hanging hair locks and hardening the strands into a long, ribbed hood. 

She could see Starfire’s pupils narrowing into long slits this close. Smell a cocktail of ink and freshly shed hide. The alien’s ears fanned out. Her lips puckered. Her features seemed to set themselves in place as she stared at Raven like a mouse left out in the open. 

Words connected in her head without her consent. Ruthless. Lamia Princess. Staria Hebihime.

She went pale as a sheet. Starfire Hebihime’s tongue flickered out of her lips. The princess was examining her like she was an uppity piece of meat, and her heart was racing past the redline. Her chest pinched with dread - but then she realized this pain wasn’t just her emotions running high, but two sharpened points of sensitivity, localized right in the core of her nipples.

Raven tried to bolt. Hebihime leapt after her, spring-loaded. Raven caught a blur of legs whipping together in mid-flight in a rubbery snap, before the full weight of the half-snake alien pinned her to a weathered tree. Her arms were forced out - and she heard the spandex in her sleeves tighten up. Her muscles burned.

Hebihime held her down. The fear was electric. It was sparking things in Raven that weren’t just fear, but ideations of fighting back. Wrestling out of the grip of her friend and pinning her in an armlock. “Impudent sssssoldiersss,” Hebihime sneered. Her monotone cut like a blade in her heart. “Mussst know their threatssss will go unchallenged. I think thiss orc mussst be disssciplined.”

Orc?! Raven wasn’t an orc! Raven was a… a human! She was Rachel Roth, daughter of the stars! But even that mild resistance spelled doom.  
  
The tension coiling in her arms and legs became too much to ignore. It had a wonderful ache to it. It was as though Hebihime’s grip was acting as a conduit for something far less intelligent to pool into her. A dark doorway for the horny and the stupid, that was manifesting as the exact opposite of a shadow. Raven fought it, squirmed under her friend’s icy glare, but if she pushed too far, if she reached for that horny, stupid strength coming into her muscles, nestling into her bones, then she feared she might lose everything.

Her biceps quaked. Her joints begged her to tighten up and _flex_ . Let it out. Get **mad.** Or maybe, struggle. Make a struggle, play out a struggle, pretend to fight. Exercise her strength and let Hebihime win, so she could feel the snake squeeze the fight out of her. Become the princess’ beefy ragdoll...

What in the multiverse was she even thinking?!

Raven shoved the feeling back down as best she could. It pushed back, drawing her costume taut over the arms and legs. She’d never set foot into a gym, never committed to the healthy lifestyle more than she had to, but now, she could spot the crags and fissures of developing muscle tone. Her tummy squeezed until the abdominals underneath sang, and it was all Raven could here. She kicked, she wriggled, she unconsciously felt her costume breaking at the seam.

She felt piercings jostle inside her nipples.

“This… going too far?!” This _is_ going too far?! Isn’t it? Raven tried to enunciate again. “What... h-happening to Hebihime…?”   
  
Hebihime tsked-tsked. Her tail rose over the shoulder. Raven looked down, and saw nothing but tail. “Do they not teach orcssss how to sssspeak properly? Are you green in the face-ssssuh with envy?”

  
So that’s what that flushing was. Raven bit her lip. Her face was filling up like a jug, from bottom to top with what she thought was embarrassment. No, it was her complexion. All the green of a fantasy barbarian, come to render her features in LARPing face paint.

She thought she might die here, swimming in her urges, when cybernetic hands took Hebihime by the shoulders. “What?! Who dresses touch me-”  
  
Raven hoped this would be her savior - but her hopes were shot down in an instant. A pair of heavy, blouse-covered tits slammed into Hebihime’s hide and sent her sailing back towards the road.

“No horse-play, y’all~,” Cyborg Cyndri Minos said.

Raven’s face turned from green to red on a dime. She was staring up into the half-doctored eyes of some sort of cow/human/android hybrid… no, who was she kidding? She barely registered Victor Stone’s old face, stretched by the sweep of horns, a nose ring and wing-tipped cow ears. Her attention had been stolen, robbed, by the bountiful cleavage that had smacked Hebihime into next tuesday. 

“Iiiii demand resssspeeeeect…” she warbled pathetically. As it turned out, the snake princess was more of a glass cannon. Which fit for sorcerers, Raven realized belatedly. Which Hebihime undoubtedly was, judging from their history together.

Cyndri offered a hand coated with blue circuitry. Raven took it, staggering up on stiff legs.  
  
Her eyes were drawn into the cleavage, fixed to the spot. They were the biggest ones out of the party yet. GG cups, if she had to guess. They were imposingly round and stretched beyond sense, jiggling with the lightest amount of force applied to them. Whatever mad genius who thought up her character design saw fit to pierce the nipples with gold rings outside of the blouse that carried them, practically making the milkers floating kegs. The rings were turgid, cylindrical things, made to be pulled and yanked. A dedicated patron could pop them off and have a long drink of minotaur milk if they ever wanted...

Raven realized she was drooling. Cyndri laughed boisterously. “Ain’t like this your first time lookin’ at my boobs, Rae-Rae! You freakin’ love my tiddies, don’tcha~”

Cyndri was not a he either, not anymore. He’d traded his masculine coding for child-rearing hips and hooves out of sight, and a triangular center chassis for a blouse, smock and a flattering set of thigh-highs.

She patted Raven on her shoulders, sweeping pinecone sheddings and wood splinters off. Gods above, she wanted minotaur hooves touching her up and down.

“P-please,” she shuddered. But Cyndri brought her in, cupping her cheeks with both hands, and stole a smooch!

“Mmmmmmmmwah! There! Now it’s all better, ain’t it~”  
  
Raven Rae-Rae reeled back. Despite every effort to stay in control, her eyes were spinning in their sockets and her cheeks were set aflame. Her name was slipping away from her, and all attempts to concentrate on the real her, the her that could escape all this ‘fun,’ were disappearing into the murky depths of her mind. She wanted to make out with Cyndri, not save this Cyborg person.

But still, **_still_ **, there was a divide she could see. The separation between reality and fantasy. She knew it in her heart.

This was her last chance. It would all come to a head if she failed to stop herself from changing. Her body quivered, desperate to get out. Her heart yearned to escape. She was no longer tempered with the hermit’s abstinence of emotion; she was nothing but now. All emotion, all urge, all instinct, mobbing the libraries of her mind palace and carting out the books. A desire drive that craved letting go and busting out of this shell…!  
  
“C-cyndri no tease Rae-Rae,” she scolded. She sounded so stupid. But even the stupidity had a liberating edge. “Me want help. Me nn-not… orc!”   
  
Even as she said it, the statement felt wrong. What was she if she wasn’t…

“An orc?” Cyndri repeated. She cocked her head.

“Me not orc!” Rae-Rae pushed. “Am not! I speak common good more than this!”

She felt herself slipping. The struggle inside her turned recursive. The more she grasped for the things she knew to be true, the worse her temptations became...  
  
“Me not anything _fan-ta-sy_! I… Titan! With team! Big… n-no! Small! Small, puny Rae-Rae! No… nnngh… tattoos… nnngggghhh, no piercings…! No tusks, no ssssSu-Snuuuuu! A-azarath…!”

Rae-Rae fought as hard as she could, but the specter of lost humanity was waning. It was losing appeal with every word.

She felt the disparate elements of herself coming back. A torsioned step into Cyndri’s personal space made her grow inches at a time. The leotard finally tore down the center. In a moment of epic frustration, Rae-Rae grabbed the bust of her top in her weathering hands and tore it away, so teats pierced with bone could fly free. She heaved, and roared, clenching her pectorals and biceps and riding the pleasure of sweet release through splitting sleeves. 

The symbols of clan Su-Snu were etching into her skin. Her life was remaking itself. She relished the wave of history crashing into the side of her growing body and eroding a new being from the sediment and dirt of a puny, powerless mage. Sweat beaded down the marking lines of a warrior’s woad. They followed the needle that carved ink into her flesh, and it was all she could do not to shudder in delight. Nicks cut into her fingers, cutting to the quick. Scars burrowed themselves down her arms, into the cleft of her jaw. Claw marks found homes in her underboob, in the hallowed corridor leading to an unshaved pussy.

Oh, the things an Orc could _fuck_.

All notions of metrions and zinthoses popped like ditzy bubbles. She had gotten lost in the abject pleasure of tearing her costume apart, and now had no way to get back. No reason to get back to anything that wasn’t a rippling she-stud of a fighter.

She licked over new tusks. Swept a sweaty hand through her hair.

Richelle, who had been watching the transformation in real time, popped a nose bleed. “... by the seventh hell…”  
  
Cyndri fanned herself, brimming with wholesome barmaid energy. “Don’t you worry, Rae-Rae, you’re beautiful exactly the way you are.”   
  
Exactly the way Rae-Rae was was exactly what one might expect from 8 intelligence and 10 wisdom paired together. There was just enough active neurons in her head to recognize that Cyndri was reassuring her of something, but the fog of ripping out of these overly tight shreds of a leotard made it difficult to remember what she was reassuring her of, or why this feeling of empowerment was so earth-shattering…

She chalked it up to feeling too good to quit. Rae-rae smirked. “Me gorgeous. Rae-Rae strongest in the party, eheheh…”  
  
She drew her arms back and flexed for effect. Richelle fainted from blood loss.

Hebihime slithered back up to standing height. Her dress had exploded when Rae-Rae wasn’t looking, and a kimono and sarashi binding over the bust had sublimated in its place. “Impudent imbecssssile! I wasss engaging thisss one in a proper challenge of authority!”  
  
Rae-Rae turned to meet her - shoving her muscle-supported bust in the snake’s face. “Me not know what any those words mean~”   
  
“Gah?! H-how dare…”   
  
Hebihime hissed and coiled in a threat posture. But now, she was small. Rae-Rae topped off the height chart of everyone in the party. 7’2”, more than three hundred pounds of muscle built in nature. Hell, she had to step through the most common door frames by craning her head down and crouching through! There was no way the snake princess could ever threaten someone of her size and strength, and Rae-Rae knew it deep in her bones.

Hebihime could hiss at her all she wanted. Try, and fail, to browbeat her into submission. But all the words she used were fancy 10-GP sayings and multi-syllable jargon, the kinds of things wizards and mages thought up in their spare time while planting their faces in books.

Rae-Rae did not respect wizards, sorcerers, or any sort of magic-user born from civilization. They were all squishy.

But sometimes, she let them think they had the upper hand. She liked that. Surrender was just as fun as domination. Whether she was parading her captives into town or she was being paraded herself, Rae-Rae found and nursed the desire for exhibition. To win with eyes witnessing her victory, or lose with the sting of utter humiliation.

Before she could act on her sordid desires, though, Cyndri stepped between them. “Break it up, you two! Come on now, come on, you’re better than this!”  
  
Rae-Rae crossed her arms in apparent victory. Hebihime gave a grumpy snuffle and wiped her chin on her kimono sleeve.

Cyndri shook her head. Her bust bounced predictably. “There’s no sense fighting each other, y’all. What’s the [MC] gonna think?”  
  
Rae-Rae’s eyes shot open. A cupid arrow rang true through her simpleton heart.

“[MC???]” Richelle asked with alarm.

“[MC…]” Hebihime echoed with mysterious, anime intonation.

“[M… C…]” Rae-Rae slowly mouthed.

“I don’t know about you,” Cyndri continued, his tone halfway to a scolding, but too wholesome and happy to commit to it, “but I think my future husband’d rather us not fight over who gets to jump his bones. The sooner we stop fighting each other, the sooner we can figure out who gets his hand in sweet marriage~”

A lotus flower budded in Rae-Rae’s heart. It was an unflinching devotion to the man who recruited her that day. Who showed his dark heart, and in an instant, enraptured her wholly and completely.

“You boast,” Rae-Rae snorted. “But it me who screw [MC].”  
  
“[MC] desssserves a better bride than you can offer,” Hebihime countered. She jabbed a finger against Rae-Rae’s chest and made very little progress in intimidating her. “... [MC] issss a man of culture.”   
  
Richelle squirmed. She kept her trap shut, for fear of giving away how deeply and pathetically she was in love with the dark knight. Submissive tieflings do as submissive tieflings do, and nurse their crushes well past the point of soiled undergarments. Fortunately, Richelle lacked the self-esteem to put her desires ahead of the party’s, but Rae-Rae could sense how badly she wanted him. How much she wanted his loving touch...

Cyndri had that dramatic flair, but any cow with massive knockers would have the confidence to fight it out for [MC]’s attention. Maybe it was bluster. What would [MC] really want with her? A pleasant relationship with a rambunctious tomboy?  
  
And what of Hebihime, the kuudere royal?   
  
Or Richelle, the blushing deredere?   
  
It seemed obvious to Rae-Rae that they didn’t measure up. What [MC] wanted out of his women was the abject threat of his pelvis being crushed. He wanted strength. He craved a full-bodied warrior, capable of breeding a new generation of adventurers into the world, surviving multiple pregnancies and teaching their kin how to brawl like an orc. 

Suddenly, there was a shuffling among the shrubs. The party turned, pivoted as one to gain the initiative. A great, shrimpy figure emerged, shrouded in the darkness of a cape made of mist.

The girls swooned as they recognized the face inside the helm.

“It’s **G** **A** **R** **R** **Y** **!** ” they called.

Twas Garry Sturmrider. Or Garry Stu for short. A pale figure, roughly five feet tall, clad in heavy plate and wielding a cursed zweihander. He didn’t walk so much as he stumbled. His greaves and gloves were too small, his weapon too big, and his 18 levels of Paladin/Warlock multiclass too edgy to functionally pack into a single costume.

“H-hey, um, guys?” Garry said. “What’s shake’n baking?”  
  
He regretted saying anything. In an instant, he was mugged by a cow, a lamia, a demon, and an orc, who all wanted more than ever to jump his bones.

It was going to be a long session.   


  
  


**\--- SEVERAL MONTHS LATER ---**

“Aaaaaand that’s when things sorta jumped the track a little bit,” Xander finished. He spun his baked beans a little bit with his fork. “You can guess how I ended up here, ehehe...”  
  
The other patients stared blankly at him. He should have figured. Explaining a good session of D&D to someone was like trying to recount a really good dream. It was such a great, memorable experience for you - but none of the other superhero inmates could really relate.

Ah well. Such was life in Bludhaven Memorial’s Mental Health wing. Xander Polinsky had all the time in the world to rattle on about his nerdly hobbies, and the occasional almost successful evil scheme. Whether anyone would actually listen or not was not guaranteed.

His therapist might. That was something. He could look forward to that. As long as he stayed five feet from her at all times, he could talk about whatever he wanted.

A heavy dose of anti-anxiety medication, with happy antidepressants as a chaser, had the pleasant side effect of turning him into a motormouth. It worked for the chief quack, Dr. Harley Quinzel, since it got Xander to confess to how he did what he did. It didn’t work for Cinderblock and Mumbo, who shared the same block with Xander at mealtime.

Though at least Cinderblock had the courtesy to be mute.

“You seriously bumbled the mind magic?” Mumbo said flatly. “There? Right as you had them in your clutches. What an amateur.”  
  
“I-I’m not that good with magic,” Xander blustered. “Control Freak’s a technical villain, that’s not his special.”   
  
Mumbo the Magnificent rolled his eyes. 

“A-and you were in here!” Xander added in. “I totally would’ve called you to consult, I swear on the Force. And- look. It’s not like you did any better.”  
  
“It’s that Raven girl,” Mumbo said bitterly. He speared a Salisbury steak patty and bit into it. “The unsolvable problem. The world’s most uncooperative assistant. She’s the wild card. Always mucking up the formula right as you’re about to get it right.”   
  
Xander moped. “Yeeaaaah…”

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that magic trick, tubby. You’re still a C-lister.”  
  
The change in tone was abrupt, but it was hard for Xander to be mad. Not just because the drugs were doing a good job deadening his megalomaniacal impulses - no doubt, Wayne Pharma made some solid uppers. In actuality, Xander was glad to have lost the way he did.

After all, he was still. After a fashion, of course.

One of the guards - Terry, Xander thought his name was - tapped the lunch table with his baton. “Time to go, Mr. Polinsky. Your visiting hours are starting soon.”  
  
Xander quickly stuffed the rest of his dinner into his mouth. “Mmmghfh, can I stop by my room and get my rulebook?”   
  
It was probably an odd thing to ask, but the guards had probably heard worse. Terry sighed like a put upon father. “I’ll walk you down. Gave a good evening, Mumbo. Cinder.”   
  
Cinderblock’s stone plates rotated slightly. Xander could sense relief.

He made it back to his room a few minutes after that. It was a spartan dorm he shared with Doctor Light, a barely furnished space. Just two mattresses, a closet and a bathroom. It was a modicum of privacy. 

They were allowed to bring a few vetted items as safekeeping, while their lawyers went through discovery and the local authorities checked their earthly possessions for evidence. The doctor chose nightlights. Xander chose a dog-eared copy of the 5e Dungeon Master’s Guide, along with a composition book of his notes.

If he had all the time in the world, and a party willing to play, why not keep the game going?  
  
Terry escorted him around the building. They had rigged up for him a workstation in the computer lab for this. A microphone setup, half-decent internet connection and limited privileges to run game every week at exact hours. It wasn’t comfortable. The desk was set too low for his paunch, and the administrator had the weird notion that an engineering supervillain might somehow use the tools at his disposal to call for help, or tunnel his way back to safety.

Xander couldn’t imagine why anyone would be so paranoid.

He got the desktop humming. That old station wagon of a computer box, chugging along on Windows XP. It hadn’t seen dedicated work since it was bought off a library auction a decade ago. He thought idly about making improvements to make it run faster, to get Roll20 able to run without killing his memory usage - but then he thought better about conspiring to tinker, when it was tinkering that got him into this mess.

After some time spent waiting for Discord to boot up, a few messages shot off into cyberspace, the call went out. His party joined him, one booming beep at a time.

“Hey guys!” Xander announced into his headset.

“It is the Gee Em!” Starfire cooed! “Good evening!”  
  
“Yo dude,” Cyndri said. “S’up? They treatin’ you okay?”   
  


Xander kicked back into the desk chair they requisitioned for him and sighed plaintively. “Got the best sleep ever last night. Mmmmghghh, it’s great. The library here’s not bad either. A little light on good novels, but- hey, hello, welcome to the call. Who joined?”  
  
“You can guess,” Raven grumped. “Hello.”   


“I see that the Raven has come down from her perch~” Starfire chirped. “... is that how the saying goes?”  
  
“I didn’t even know it was a saying,” Xander admitted. “You’re early. We’re not starting for another couple minutes anyway.”   
  
Raven’s mic echoed as she shuffled papers. “Did we get a level last time?”

Xander didn’t remember if he gave out experience. Did orgies count for that? “Aaaaaahhh… yeah, sure. You’re level 4 now, I think.”  
  
“Great.”   
  
Xander chuckled awkwardly. He still couldn’t tell when Raven was angry with somebody, or just in a neutral state of loathing. Of course, he did put them through that wild sex trip…

That part of the plan was not exactly what he intended. Xander, as Control Freak, wanted to trap the Titans in personas for the rest of their days, and keep them locked up in a D&D session that would never end. The real icing on the cake would have been Xander’s character, Garry Sturmrider, using his high level magic to keep them on a loop of charming spells with a DC too high to fail.

The only downside was that the magic tome he had stolen to put this plan into motion in the first place was… well, X-rated.

And when Xander misplaced Garry’s character sheet and gave it to Beast Boy by mistake, well…

“Sup duuuuuudes!”  
  
“Hello and salutations, Beast Boy!”   
  
“Oh good.”   
  
“My maaaan! It’s Garry Sturmrider!”   
  
“H-hey now, I got my own sheet now! You can stop with that.”   
  
Beast boy had enough presence of mind not to let the girls have their way with him. The extra levels and character score improvements helped, but it was his conscience that helped him dispel the others. Not that Control Freak was really comfortable with the rapey context he’d accidentally created, but he was still culpable.

There was a fight. Beast Boy dragged him into the fictional dimension of the game - since he had the spell levels to Wish the gamemaster would show up - and the party solved things amicably. Which meant a 911 call _after_ a group orgy in the town next door.

Xander was a little shocked at how open the party would be to indulging the sins of the book, even after their minds were restored, but he didn’t question it that much. He didn’t want to be That Guy.

All he knew as Beast Boy was an animal.

And that the gender flipping effect on Cyndri and RIchelle went a little farther than the game. Speaking of the devil, one more arrival beep sounded in the call.

“Our cleric has answered our prayers!” Starfire giggled.

“H-hey guys…” Richelle whispered. “Am I late? S’everyone okay?”  
  
“Nope,” Cyndri intoned. “Couple minutes early, I think.”   
  
“I was doing makeup…” Richelle trailed off. 

Beast Boy cheered. “Oh, dude! Sweet!”

“Hey now… I just want to look pretty…” She muted out of embarrassment. That got a laugh out of the other Titans, but just a small one. They respected Richelle’s self-confidence issues. Xander did too, now that he was GMing for them for the second week in a row.

All told, they seemed to enjoy his worldbuilding and enemy design. Not so much the plot - an undead lich with a MacGuffin-centered evil scheme’s been done too many times to be fresh. But on the whole, when Xander wasn’t putting them in an obvious GMPC harem scenario, his games were actually rather fun.

So they told him. While high on anti-anxiety medication, Xander was inclined to believe what they said.

It was more satisfying to run for a group of willing players than to kidnap his self-proclaimed enemies and force them to play-act their horny personas. 

That said, they were choosing to play their horny personas for his REAL game… of their own free will.

It was better that he didn’t call attention to it. He was the game master, but he wasn’t a Titan. Not unless he did good time and stayed on his medication. What they did in their free time, in the corners of Titans tower, was not his purview.

He suspected a couple new relationships blossomed as a result of the cursed D&D session. That, and other things blossoming...

He flipped open his notebook. Checked the dice bot to make sure it was running. He let the conversation run on for a little while longer, until a dead spot presented itself in the call to give them the grace to clear his throat.

“Sshhh shh shh, it’s starting,” Starfire reminded.

Raven grunted tentatively. She was ready to dive into character. “... Are we ready? Me… ready to play.”

“Indeed! Everyone ready?”

There was a universal outcry of excitement. The music bot joined when Xander called for it, and with the soothing notes of a Youtube ambient loop, he slipped into a completely new persona.

  
  


_We open tonight after a long rest. The party solved a mystery in the Brimstone mines for the Hellfire dwarves, and stayed at the Cavern’s End Inn. The owner lauded you for your heroism! Rae-Rae, would you kindly describe for me…_

  
  
  
  


\---THE END---

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission! Control Freak, the Titans and all mentioned supervillains are owned by DC Comics. If you like what you see, please consider supporting my Patreon (at https://www.patreon.com/CharlieGM) so I can make a living while writing. Follow my twitter handle (https://twitter.com/Enigmestudios) to see lewds, political thoughts and general thoughts!


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